By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Hail hits the car window and tall pine trees curve against the wind. We zip past forests in the forty minute drive from Gothenburg airport. I’m adjusting to the lack of skyscrapers. I’m in awe of just how much space there is - to breathe. On my mind is the hike we planned for the day. When we reach the house, a neighbour tells us about a large trunk that nearly crushed their home. The houses are traditional for Sweden, picture perfect like the magnets I saw in the airpot kiosk. The walls and roof are painted in potent red and ochre with bright white strips around the windows. Passing the severed log, we think twice about the hike in Borås. The winds are 70 miles per hour and the house is whistling. Safety first. Coming from an overcrowded city, my lungs thank me for this fresh air. We take a brisk walk around the bend of the Lake Tolken. The incessant rain means the lake is rising and some of the docks are going under so we rescue a floating bench from a journey down the current. Neighbourliness seems to come naturally here. The lake is a deceptively deep and long reservoir - a central watering hole for the houses. Reflecting the grey sky, I wonder what the lake will look like in summer, mirroring pearly clouds and washes of blue. However, as the locals say, there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing, and I’m glad I packed my hat. I spend the evening deep in others’ words and turn pages to the comforting pop and crackle of a fire. Being a city girl with no fireplace in sight, adding logs to keep the embers alive is an uncommon activity for me. I feel more in touch with nature, and as I tear my eyes away from the final pages of a novel I’m transfixed by the flames licking the logs as they climb towards the chimney. As the last of the fire’s embers dwindle into smoke and ash we retire to bed. The night is so very quiet and it is so welcome. The next day arrives; the wind has abated. The sun strikes through stubborn clouds. The sight of sunbeams through trees is an unmatched beauty. I don a hi-vis jacket for the hike. It’s hunting season and I am not taking any chances. That old saying ‘If a tree falls in a forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?’ is present in my mind as we walk through the forest, giving the defeated trunks a wide berth. I think about the cracking noises they would have made and the echoing thud as they gave in to the wind. I’m taken aback by the dense green forest. I love how the trees are uniformly upright and evenly spaced as though they were all planted individually, row by row. There’s something undoubtedly cinematic about it all. At the peak of the hike we reach a viewpoint, the wind is picking back up and our tea on the top of the hill is perfectly timed. We look out an evergreen sea of triangular tips and spot another reservoir. A rocky hill laden with moss looks like a sleeping dragon, emitting thermal energy. I’m told that there are wolves and bears south side and I wonder if I happen across either what I would do. Having only ever crossed paths with pigeons and foxes, I knew I would be out of my depth. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, sightings of these animals in their natural habitat never occurred. Returning home, I notice a large black beast outside a neighbour’s house. Horses in the paddock don’t seem startled and I realise the beast is a large black Alsatian, not a wolf. Disappointed and somewhat relieved I get in, take off the waterproofs and settle down to write. It’s easy to be inspired here. I think about returning in the technicolour summer, and seeing the vividness of Borås’ yellow, red and ochre houses, the deep green forests against rich blue skies. I will be back, se dig snart Sverige.